The Many Loves of Dr Grey
by LilLolaBlue
Summary: Meet Jean Grey. Student & fiery mutant activist by day, hard-living metal grrl by night. OK for teen rebel, but for a doctor, teacher, & respected X-Man? She should have given up Logan's heavy metal thunder long ago. W/special guest degenerate Tony Stark.
1. Hey, Ho, Let's Go!

**THE MANY LOVES OF DR. GREY**

**(Author's Note. If you're not joining me from "Frightening the Horses" & you don't read X-Men stories, you'll need some background. To square things between X-Men movieverse, Marvel movieverse, in general, and Marvel Comicverse in order to get the years right, but the comicverse element in place, I structured the story this way. This story is a prequel to "Frightening the Horses", but it's meant to stand on its own.)  
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**Chapter One: Hey, Ho, Let's Go!**

**Prelude: X-Institute, 1994. Jean Grey and Scott Summers' suite. Wednesday.**

Dr. Grey was already awake when the alarm clock went off at 6:30.

Because Dr. Grey had been awake all night.

Just lying there.

She' hadn't even got her usual two hours or so of the deep and dreamless.

Scott was a morning person.

The minute the alarm clock went off, he was wide awake.

Chirpy and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He turned over, and kissed her, lightly, on the lips.

"Good morning, babe."

Then he bounced right out of bed.

Jean watched him walk across the room the way Wile E. Coyote looked at the Road Runner.

"Scott…"

He was in the bathroom , already, the shower was on.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Never mind."

* * *

><p>At eight, Dr. Grey appeared before the life science class she taught to the students who were in the equivalent of the 5th grade, looking as cool, collected and professional as usual.<p>

She had two more classes before lunch, which she ate with Storm.

"Jean, you look awful."

"I didn't sleep last night, Ro. Not a fucking wink. Scott has apparently forgotten that I am not his sister. Again."

"Well, he's just had a lot of work to do. He'll make it up to you. You know that."

"I know, I know. He always does. I'm not complaining. But that's not now. Tell me something. Are you as bad as you were when you were 17?"

"Me? I'd say so. But Jean, you've got it worse than me. You get worse every year. You should be able to collect a disability check for your sex drive."

Jean ran her hand through her hair.

"It does get worse with every passing year. And more embarrassing. I'm not a kid, anymore. People look up to me. My students. My colleagues. Young mutant rights activists. It's ridiculous. I mean, you try to build something with your life. To be a person of responsibility. Gravity. Dignity. I have worked very hard to shed Marvel Girl, and all the associated stupidity that went with her. I'm a doctor, I'm a professor, I'm a mutant rights activist, I'm a respected senior X-Man, for fuck's sake! And then there's sex. It's a real destroyer."

"Jean, you really need to talk to Scott about this."

"Scott? Are you kidding me?"

"What are you going to do? Marry him and cheat?"

"Why not? I'm engaged to him, and I cheat. We made an agreement in Styrker's jail, and I see no reason to re-negotiate it. For one thing, it would be against my principles. For another, I just can't. Ro, this is the only way that Scott and I work. Trust me. When he wants to be, there are no flies on Scott. None at all. I couldn't be with a man who wasn't one hell of a man. But when he wants to is about three times a week, and when I want to is pretty much all the time. His sex drive is at 5 or 6, and mine goes to eleven. But I've loved him since I was 13. I can't even think of what would happen to me if I lost him. Every since we met in Stryker's prison, Scott had been my rock. If he was gone…I don't even want to know what would happen to me. But f I say yes to marrying him, and he wants me to give up Logan and Tony…Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind."

Storm shook her head.

"I don't know what to tell you, Jean. Just that your secrets are safe with me. All of them. But you know, 11 years is a long time. Maybe Scott's done some growing up and wising up."

"Scott? It is a perfect world for him. He's the last Boy Scout. Besides, today is Wednesday."

* * *

><p>Most of the Institute was non-smoking, and Jean smoked in her lab, though she knew she shouldn't have, but she didn't smoke in her rooms, because Scott didn't like it.<p>

The smoke irritated his sinuses, and because of his head injury and his powers, he already got enough headaches.

If she wanted to smoke she did it in the bathroom, with the window open and the vents on.

There was, however, a smoking room at the Institute.

It was better known as Logan's office.

He had a suite of rooms, but Logan liked to keep things simple; he had a Murphy bed put in his office and got a mini-fridge, and stuck a TV on top of it.

He kept his clothes in a foot locker, hung his hat and coat on pegs on the wall, and called it home.

Logan's office was off the gym and danger room and not in the main complex and he was the only other professor who smoked.

Even when he wasn't in his office, Jean would go there to have a smoke.

Logan didn't mind.

After all he was her friend.

Her best friend.

After she ate, she went down to his office and chain-smoked five cigarettes.

She was sitting in his chair, turned away from his desk, smoking the seventh when she heard him come in.

"I hate my life, Logan. I hate it." She said.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Jeannie. I think Scott and Charlie are being unfair. It's 1994. Not 1894. I don't think parents are gonna not send their kids here because you're not the settling down kind. Everybody knows you're just a little to the left of Che Guevara. It goes with the territory." he chuckled.

"It's not funny, Logan. They don't make you live a lie. Because you're a man. It's acceptable for you."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, darlin', I'm not ashamed, and I don't give a good God damn what people think of me enough to lie about anything."

"Neither do I. Too bad I can't say the same for Scott. But I don't want to think about it. Today it doesn't matter. Because today is Wednesday. And we have a half hour till lunch is over. But, considering that fifteen minutes with you is like three days with an ordinary mortal, I think I may even live until tonight."

Logan came around, lifted her off the chair and put her on the desk.

"If I cry a little, Logan, don't think you're hurting me, alright?" she said.

"What's the matter, darlin'?"

"Sometimes I think my life is nothing but a hideous trap. The worst part is, I made it, myself."

He held her very close, folding her in his massive arms so hard against his massive barrel chest that Jean felt like he might take her breath away.

"I'll chew your leg off for ya to get out of it. Knowin' you, I'm sure it'll grow back."

"You know, Logan, sometimes I feel like I'm going to start to scream, and I will not be able to stop."

"Must be pretty bad, darlin'. Lemme see if I can't relieve some of that tension for ya. Y'know, that door's unlocked. Anybody could come in here and catch us, humpin' away. You want me to go and lock it?"

Jean shot him an evil look.

"No."

Logan smiled.

"That's what I like about you, Jeannie. You're so damn bad."

**Tony Stark's Penthouse apartment. New York. Sunday.**

Tony Stark had just fallen asleep when his cell phone began to ring.

He looked at his watch in the light from the arc reactor, and saw it was three in the morning.

"This had better be good." He mumbled.

He answered the phone.

"Hello there! Are you calling from another time zone, or are you an insomniac?"

"You got any blow, Tony?"

Tony recognized the voice, immediately.

He drank the drink he had fallen sleep in the middle of, sat up, and turned on the light.

"Actually , Jean, I tooted my last line of coke about ten years ago. It was ruining my social life. Is there anything else you want me to put on my dick for you? You know. Within reason."

Jean laughed.

"That's what I like about you, Tony. You're not full of shit."

"Wait. Before this goes any further, you have to tell me if it's phone sex. Because if it is, you have to say something dirty to me, now. You can't just back out and hang up. I'm getting painfully hard, here."

"Well, think about Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day. Because I'm about an hour away."

"Are you at home?"

He was out of bed.

Already.

"Yes."

"Then you're five minutes away."

Tony put his hand over the receiver.

"Jarvis!" he yelled.

Within moments, the lights in his bedroom were on, and Jarvis was there.

He even looked shipshape in his pyjamas and bathrobe.

"Sorry to wake you up, but could you go put the workshop lights on and get the suit ready? I have an emergency."

Jarvis smirked, a little.

"Is that what they're calling it, now, sir?"

"Very funny, Jarvis."

Tony got back on the phone with Jean.

"Alright, Jean, I'm getting dressed now, and I can be suited up within ten minutes. How long will it take you to get to the spot on the grounds where I usually pick you up?"

"I'm on my cell phone. I'm walking now."

Tony looked in some drawers.

"Your emergency bag is still here but I threw out the toothbrush. It was all worn down and nasty. I have a whole package of new ones. Somewhere. Jarvis knows."

Jean sighed.

"Did you sigh? Was that guilt? Why are you guilty? You have no reason to be guilty. You're the one who's doing your best to make your relationship work. Cyclops is stuck in 1953 somewhere, and you have to suffer for it."

"I love him, Tony."

"That makes you even more of a saint. I mean, everyone, especially people in our line of work know that it's not an Ozzie and Harriet world. If he loves you, he shouldn't be ashamed of you. It's not as if you want to take a page out in the New York times advertising that you don't practice monogamy. Not to mention all that complete and total bullshit about revelations hurting the school. Or your reputation, as a mask. Look at me. I'm the whore of humanity. I'm a shameless, cunt-struck slut, and I cheerfully admit to it. And everybody loves me. Your reputation isn't even close to being as toxic as mine. You've had the same two lovers, apart from Scooter, since 1983. I don't even know how many women I've had since 1983. I don't know how many women I've had since 1993. I get thank you letters from Durex at least once a month. And how many hours does it translate into, a week, that you're not his? Sixteen? Twenty-four? Why should he be such a puritanical dick and cause you so much unearned unhappiness over eight hours, here and there, in which all he's doing is sleeping? And you stay with him, because you love him, and you suffer, yourself, to keep his ridiculous illusions, and his preposterous reputation intact. You're a saint, Jean. It's an incontrovertible fact."

"Tony, I wish my sense of morality was as malleable as yours."

"What can I say? In your heart you're a good girl who wants to do the right thing for everyone, and I am a dirty, filthy drunken whore who doesn't give a fuck."

"I know. That's' why I'm calling you."

"Alright, I'm in the workshop, suiting up. I'll see you, soon."

"Okay. Tony?"

"Yes?"

"Don't wear anything complicated."

* * *

><p>"…calling the paramedics! TONY!"<p>

Groaning, Tony Stark opened his eyes, and saw Pepper, leaning over him, her face filled with concern.

"I'm alright, Potts. I was just asleep."

"Asleep? I've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes. I did everything but pull back the covers and throw ice cubes down your shorts."

"I'm naked. And if you have an ice bag on you, that would be an excellent idea. I think I broke my own record last night."

"Should I call the Guinness Book of World Records?"

"No. But you can cancel my appointment with my chiropractor."

He got out of bed.

Pepper looked away.

"Oh. Sorry, Potts. I don't think it knows she's not here, anymore. Down, boy! Down!"

"Jean Grey?"

"The one and only. On second thought, I can see why Scooter needs his rest. Jean was 17 and incredibly horny when I met her. Eleven years later, she still is. How does my back look?"

"Like someone scared a cat and threw it into bed with you."

"Occupational hazard."

"You really shouldn't drink so early in the morning."

"True. But I'm a little worried about the fact that I have no feeling in my legs. I'm going to go take a shower. If I think I need the paramedics, I'll scream. Oh, and could you get Bruce Wayne on the phone for me? Just bring it into the bathroom."

"Why do you need to talk to Bruce Wayne first thing in the morning?"

"Because he was right. I thought it was scientifically impossible for the arc reactor to flash, and he maintained that if I was in the middle of a catastrophic event of incredible magnitude, like a 100 megaton bomb, or the impact zone of an asteroid the size of a football field, the arc reactor could flash, for a matter of seconds."

"Flash?"

"Yes. Flash. Bruce's theory was that if I was involved in an even like that, the force of my emotional reaction would be so catastrophic that it would overwhelm the bio—Wait. Let me say this to you in English. I would lose my shit to the point where I could temporarily short circuit."

"And you flashed last night?"

"Yes. I have a theory as to why. I think that Jean was so, ah, overcome by sensation that she may have released the teeniest bit of the Phoenix force."

Pepper Potts shook her head.

"Leave it to you, Tony. Most people only kill themselves from heart attacks in bed. Not you. You're going to destroy the world."

Tony put the decanter back on the table.

"Well, they didn't call it the Big Bang by accident, did they?"

**X-Institute Gymnasium, 1983**

**I: Jean**

Jean Grey and Ororo Monroe, both 17, wearing Ramones tee shirts, stood against the back wall of the school gymnasium, having just come in the back door, after sneaking a smoke.

They were both at the top of their class, and as such, were above reproach.

Neither was known to drink, or use drugs, and if they were a little spirited, that was expected for such intelligent women.

Yeah, right.

What Professor X didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

Ororo, she smoked a little, and sometimes sneaked the odd bottle of wine, things like that.

Jean, however, was not satisfied with small-scale rebellions.

She never had been.

Her parents were registered Democrats and secret social democrats, but Jean was a card-carrying member of the Socialist Party of America, a member of NOW, and considered herself as, an activist for mutant civil rights, an American patriot, a soldier for freedom in the war against tyranny.

She was also a rock and roll hard-paryting metal grrl who enjoyed cheap thrills, fast times, loud music, good weed, red wine, and the occasional bump of coke.

And ever since she had met Tony Stark at a party, she was going into the city with him almost every night, in the pursuit of sex, drugs and rock n' roll.

After all, Scott went to bed at ten every night and as Jean hadn't slept for more than two or three hours at night since Stryker's jail, she had to do something with herself, didn't she.

Jean and Ro were both prepared to be underwhelmed by however the next gym/combat teacher was going to be until he appeared.

Ro was impressed by how huge the man was, considering he looked like he was about five foot four.

But Jean was completely overwhelmed.

"Ro, do you know who that is? That's him! He's back! That's Wolverine!"

"He couldn't be back. He went crazy after the thing with Stryker. Lost his mind, went back to the mountains. Or off to Madripoor. To run a bar, or some shit, I heard. He can't be back. He doesn't even know who he is anymore."

"Hey! In the back! Joey and DeeDee. That's right. I got real good ears, girls, I heard every word you said. I am indeed the one and only Wolverine, and I am back. For good and all. I didn't lose my mind, just most of my memories. But I remember enough to know exactly who I am, and what I'm doing. And right now, I'm teaching combat. You wanna come and join the rest of the class?"

"We can hear you just fine back here, too, Professor." Jean fired back.

"Jean!" Ro hissed.

"What?"

"That's fine, Red. You just stand back there and do your Marlon Brando impression. Just make sure you follow along and quit whisperin' about me."

The first thing he had them do was run laps around the outside of the gym, and Ro and Jean ran in step, and continued their conversation.

"He looked taller when he broke us out of jail."

"Who cares if he's short, Ro? Look at him. He was a cowboy, and a prospector, and a mountain man, and a Marine, and a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and a superhero. I mean he's every single stereotype of what a hyper-masculine macho man should be. And he looks like a baptized bear. Look at the size of his chest. And his arms. And his thighs."

"And what's between them?"

"Don't talk to me about it. I'll pass out."

"Jean, are you crazy? He's our professor. Hell, he's the goddamn Wolverine!"

"I don't care. He's exactly what I've been looking for, since I started looking when I was 12 years old. He's mine. The big, gruesome, beautiful blue-eyed son of a bitch is mine!"

Jean had been wheezing the whole time, and she had her hand over her ribs as a stitch hit her side, and finally she had to stop and breathe.

Eventually, their professor jogged by.

"That's what all that drinkin' cheap wine and chain smokin' will do for you, Red. Rots your guts and steals your wind. Maybe you oughta ease up a little. Go on, go back in the gym, before you pass out."

Ro went with Jean.

"How does he know?" she asked.

"Takes one to know one." Jean wheezed.

* * *

><p>In that Logan had by this time lost most of his memory, Jean knew more about him than he knew about himself.<p>

The surly little man, was, indeed, pretty much the embodiment of every hyper-masculine super-macho archetype in existence.

His hairy, muscular, massive and fearsome appearance was just the icing on the cake.

There was something downright brutal about Professor Logan that appealed to Jean on the same level that made her get up from her bed and peacefully sleeping Scott to go out into the city at night looking for fast times, cheap thrills, and good dope.

It was what kept her balling Tony Stark in different positions in many locations, some in public, and while under the influence of just about every substance you could think of.

Sometimes only a few hours after she'd got done balling Scott.

Somehow, though, no matter how crazy, or dangerous, or degenerate it was, what she did, it was never enough.

Something about Logan, though, she knew it was him.

He would be enough.

Maybe that was why, a few classes into his tenure, when Wolverine asked the class if anyone wanted to come forward and spar with him, Jean volunteered.

They say that love at first sight is like a thunderbolt; like being hit by a car or struck by lightning, or touched by the finger of God.

Jean could see it strike the combat instructor when she came out of the frightened knot of students, assumed a fighting stance, and put up her fists.

"You know I can't run for shit, Mr. Logan. So I have to be good at standing and fighting." She told him.

She took advantage of the moment he was a little shaken to try and hit him.

It wasn't long enough.

He caught her fist, and she tried, subtly, to manipulate his mind, and found, to her shock that the Professor's mental defenses were as acute as his physical ones.

"Don't even think about kickin' me in the balls, Red."

Those blazing eyes, that massive chest, the feel of his large, strong fist wrapped around her hand.

Jean tried to dodge it, but that same thunderbolt ricocheted off Professor Logan and struck her.

Right between the thighs.

No, eyes.

Eyes.

"I would sooner slash a Rembrandt. A thing of beauty is a joy forever. But, considering you asked me to take you down…"

She smacked her forehead into his, instead, and woke up being carried by him to the Infirmary.

"That's right. Your skull is coated in metal. Am I bleeding?"

"Just a little. That would have worked with anybody else. I got a lump on my head. Well, I did a minute ago. Just try not to move around too much. You've probably got a concussion."

No, that's not a concussion, Wolverine.

It's just you.

* * *

><p>Jean used her failure at running laps and her concussion during hand-to-hand combat to convince Charles that she needed private combat lessons.<p>

In reality, Jean needed private combat lessons like she needed a hole in the head.

When she was doing her hard man act in Bill Stryker's jail, she'd pick a fight with the guards, or throw her food, or do something insubordinate almost every day; that was where she cut her teeth on fighting.

And considering her hard-partying lifestyle, she sometimes had to throw a few punches around to get out of some jams.

She and Mr. Logan had once been in the same sleazy bar, which would serve anybody who could see over the bar to order a drink, and her personally saw her drop a guy twice her size for grabbing her ass.

He went along with the private lessons thing for about two weeks, and then he decided it was balls to the wall time.

"Let's cut the bullshit, Miz Grey. You don't need these private lessons. I've seen you get mad and kick the shit out of somebody. And I have same fuzzy but very nasty memories of you splitting Stryker's jail. What are you really here for?"

"Just what you think I am, Professor. We have Charles' permission to be alone together, after school, for two hours. And we're wasting it."

"Just like that, huh? I know your game, baby. You told my asshole brother you were 17 and screwed him when you were just 13 years old, and I'm willing to bet that kid they call Scooter isn't the only rooster in your henhouse. Forget it, sister. I can't afford to be another notch on your belt."

"Okay, so I'm not the most romantic chick in the world. You asked. I'm answering. You want me, and I know I want you. What's stopping us?"

"You're 17 and I'm pushing a hundred. It's against school rules, and this old Canucklehead has noplace else to go. I'm old enough to be your great-grandpa, and you're barely legal."

Jean calmly lit a cigarette.

"You look good for your age." She said.

"Put that out!"

"Make me." Jean sneered.

_SNIKT!_

Jean was startled.

That razor sharp claw skewered her cigarette and was millimeters from her skin.

He had amazing reflexes.

Professor Logan retracted his claws, and threw the ruined cigarette away.

"Go back to the dorm, and see your boyfriend."

"I like a little variety in my diet."

Professor Logan lit a cigar.

"Go get yourself another boy or two, then, Miz Grey. Close the door on your way out."

Jean lit another cigarette, and leaned over the desk.

Far enough that her tits almost fell out of her tank top, but not quite.

"I hope I got you al hot and bothered, Professor. Because I'm going to crouch outside the door by the keyhole, and watch you, to see if you have to jack off. I hope you do. I'd love to see you come."

She stubbed out the cigarette on his desk.

First, Logan looked shocked.

Then, with a snarl, he lunged across the desk, and pinned her to it, his mouth devouring hers in a violent kiss.

Jean kissed him back, just as furiously, wrapping one leg up around him and both of her arms, making a fist in his rough black hair.

Professor Logan came up for air.

"I'm a real redhead, too. Why don't you take a good, close look." Jean panted.

Just as abruptly as he had thrown her onto the desk, Wolverine got up off her.

For a moment, he looked like he was in actual physical pain.

Then, with an almost superhuman effort, he composed himself and sat behind the desk.

"Love to see me come, huh? Well, there's no tellin', darlin' maybe I made a porno, at some point in time. Look for it. Goodbye, now."

Jean got upset.

"What the fuck, man? You can't leave me high and dry like this! I know you're attracted to me? What the fuck is your problem?"

"What do you think I am, little girl? Dead? I'm not allowed to be attracted to you. I need this job. This is my home. I don't remember much, I don't know much, but I know that. I know I got noplace else to go. And if I take a crack at your burning bush, you little red devil, I'm out on my ass. Go peddle it elsewhere, little sister. Bye. Seeya in class."

"But.."

Professor Logan leaned across the desk again, his eyes going a darker shade of blue and flashing wolfishly, in a frightening display of feral fury.

"Get the fuck outa here!" he growled.

Jean left.

After she closed the door, she smiled to herself.

"Almost. I almost had him, that time."

* * *

><p>Jean and Ororo were in 'Ro and Emma's dorm room, standing by the window, smoking.<p>

"He's a tough nut to crack, 'Ro. I said just about the filthiest thing to him I could think of, and for just a second, he broke. He bent me over the desk and just about kissed my lips off. I thought he was about to rip my clothes off and nail me right to the desk. Then he pulled his shit together and threw me out. Logan's a hard man. But, I like that."

"I'm not surprised. He's not exactly Captain America, but you're not the only woman who looks at him and sees the macho, macho man of her dreams. I'm sure he can get laid right up at the bar on the interstate, by a woman who's all grown up that he won't lose his home, his job, and what's left of his reputation by screwing."

"You too? What, do you imagine I'd tell? And if anybody asked me, you know I can lie and literally make them believe me."

"What about Professor X?"

"He doesn't exactly have sex on the brain. I can hide thoughts from Charles. And Logan would never tell."

"Whatever you say, Jean. But you're crazy. You know that, right?"

Jean smiled.

"You know me, Ro. I always know what I want. And I always get it, too. Because I'm willing to take it, if I have to."

"You know, when a man does that to a woman, they call it rape."

"Yeah. But when a woman does it to a man, they call him lucky."


	2. Children of the Revolution

**Chapter Two: Children of the Revolution**

**Three Mile Island, 1979**

**I: Jean**

Jean Grey ,13, had been thinking to herself that she didn't want to spend three periods in study hall this morning, and that if it was possible to get some action and show up late, instead, that would be cool.

Jean had a comfortable upper middle-class life with her easygoing intellectual parents, both of whom were college professors at Columbia, and former hippies, both very free-thinking and broad-minded.

They lived at the Dakota, one floor below Yoko Ono and John Lennon.

The Drs. Grey were supportive of their daughter's pubescent experimentations with her bedding sexuality, and they had her on the Pill.

However, had either of them known the extent of that experimentation, they might have started looking like the silent majority pretty quickly.

Jean considered herself a feminist, and it really was her belief that gender roles and the insistence upon monogamy were tools of the patriarchy designed to keep women under the iron heel.

On the other hand, she liked to fuck, and she was proof against dead rabbits, so, why not?

As such, Jean was not overly alarmed by being picked up and stuffed into a van by a giant of a man, with yellow hair and claws and fangs.

He didn't seem like the Ted Bundy type, he was just driving her someplace, he made no attempt to assault or restrain her, and there went any crowbars or missing seats in his van.

He was pretty hot in a very dangerous sort of way, and that was something that Jean liked.

Cheap thrills, fast times, good dope.

She figured on him being a lot less of a disappointment than that freshman at Columbia she had most recently been with.

"Look, man, what's with grabbing me off the street? I've got three study halls this morning. I don't have to be in class until noon. I was actually gonna get on the subway and go to the Village and look for a little action, so, it's cool."

"I'm no rapo, kid."

"I'm no kid. And who said anything about rape? Do you hear me screaming for help?"

Finding a case of beer, she opened a can and drank about half.

"You want me to leave the skirt on?" she asked.

The blond man looked in his rearview mirror.

"How old are you?"

"17. I'm a junior this year."

She wasn't lying, she was a junior in high school.

Jean was tall for her age, and fairly well-developed.

She found that with a little creative make-up and a lot of confidence, she could pass for barely legal.

"Why not? It's the last good time you're gonna get, sister, where you're going."

The blond man pulled over to the side of the Thruway, and parked the van in the brush.

He opened the back door and climbed in with her.

"You got a name, man?"

"Sabtretooth."

"No shit? Really? I'm gonna be huge when I get back to school. I'm a mutant, myself. Dig this."

Jean unbuckled Victor Creed's belt and unzipped his pants, without ever touching him.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed.

"That ain't shit, man. If I wanted to, I could pick this van up and stick it in that tree. I could look at a guy driving past in his car and think I wanted his head to pop like a pumpkin , and, BOOM!"

"You know something, doll? My money's on you. Lemme take 'em off, myself."

* * *

><p>The infamous Sabretooth, he really screwed the ass off of her, and Jean sacked out after that.<p>

When she woke up, they were at some kind of airport and he handed her over to a military man, who didn't look anything like the guys on TV and in the movies did who were supposed to be military guys.

"Where am I going?" Jean asked.

"To a new school, marvel girl." Creed said.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Listen, kid, you show Bill Stryker you got balls and he'll fast track you out into Weapon X. As soon as you can, you start poppin' flunky's heads like pumpkins. You kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out, and I'll be seeing you again soon. Then, as my old CO in 'Nam liked to say, we'll really put these jokers through some changes."

He left her then, in the care of the guy who looked more like a spook than an army guy, and, discovering from a cursory scan of his mind that he got migraines, Jean gave him a whopper.

* * *

><p>The spook led her from the airplane into a compound, and handed her over to some flunky in coveralls, like one of the faceless goons in a James Bond movie.<p>

He had a machine gun.

Jean wasn't rattled.

Her parents told her all about the shit that the CIA refused to admit they did, especially to mutants; she was prepared for this eventuality.

At least, she thought she was.

They took her down an elevator, under the ground to a place that looked kind of like a military barracks and kind of like a prison cellblock, and put her in one of the cells.

The cells had metal doors, and small barred windows.

Jean wasn't upset.

"Hey, screw? They say the size of a man's dick is inversely proportional to the size of his gun. You must have to use tweezers to jack off."

She had every intention of popping his head like a pumpkin, but she wanted to rag on him, a little, first.

Because she could always rely on her powers, Jean had a tendency to be fearless, quick-tempered and arrogant about both.

But when the flunky in coveralls ignored her , and Jean realized they wouldn't work, she went to plan B.

Jean reached through the bars for the flunky with both arms and began pulling him against the metal door with some well of inner strength born of her sudden fear.

"Let me out! You motherfucker, you let me out, or I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you cocksuckers, you'll see!"

The flunky dropped his gun and began screaming for help, and a big man came, armed with an even bigger gun.

"Fuck you! Go ahead and shoot me, you fascist pig! Fuck the pigs! Fuck the pigs! Attica! Attica!" Jean yelled, defiantly.

Her mother and father had been taking her to demonstrations since she was a babe in arms; Jean knew the drill.

That was when someone yanked Jean away from the door.

"Shut up!" he said, and shoved Jean behind him.

"You want it too, mutie?" the man with the gun asked.

"Let her go. Your buddy's just got a little scratch on his head, and she's just a crazy kid. Be a man about it."

"Yeah well, she's your cellmate, One-Eye. Make sure it doesn't happen again, or you're both in for it."

Both men left.

Finally unmanned, Jean began to cry a little.

The boy who had protected her gave her a hug.

"Hey, don't cry. It's just this place. Whatever it is you can do, it'll come back when we get out of here. It's not so bad, as long as you don't make trouble. Like what you just did? That was bad. Don't worry. They won't hurt you, here. All you have to do is what they tell you. Quietly."

Jean was embarrassed, crying in front of her new comrade, so she sucked it up pretty damn fast.

She turned around.

He was pretty tall, and he had a bandage over his eyes, which freaked Jean out a little, but the boy seemed like a nice kid.

Cute, too.

I hope I can get my pills refilled, here.

Good thing I never leave home without them.

"So, what do they do to you in this place comrade? Torture? Beatings? Rape?" she asked, calmly.

"Your parents are hippies, aren't they?"

"My parents are American patriots, soldiers in the war against fascism and so am I. I'm a mutant. This is the way life is for us. I can take it."

"Relax. I've been a lot been worse places than this. It's not like a prison in South America in the movies. They feed you, here, and they take you to for a shower. We get two hours of outdoor exercise a day, one after lunch, one after dinner , Look, the cell isn't so bad, either. They pay you sixteen bucks a week and there's a commissary where you can buy candy and gum and magazines and smokes. It's in the cafeteria. Even the food's alright, and they give you three pairs of coveralls and wash them every week. On Sunday. All that happens is some army doctor looks at you, and takes blood samples. And they test your powers and make you do psychological tests Nobody beats you. Nobody touches the girls. It's alright."

Jean's mind eased a little bit.

"Sounds like a top secret Weapon X screening program. That makes sense. Creed's Weapon X. Maybe I can get inside, do the mole thing." She muttered.

"What?'

"Never mind. Hey, if there's no torture in this place, what happened to your eyes?"

"I have to keep them covered. It's alright, I can see right through the bandage."

"What do they do?"

"Shoot lasers."

"That sounds like it comes in handy."

"It would be if I could control them. I'm Scott."

"Oh. Hi. I'm Jean. I'm 13. But I'm in the 11th grade."

"Really? I'm 14, and I'm in 9th . But my school, it was pretty lousy. And so was my foster home. This is actually an improvement."

"How?"

Scott shrugged.

"I get food three times a day, and they wash your overalls, and give you new ones when the land ones wear out, they let you sleep through the night and nobody beats you up or screams at you, as long as you don't try to kill them. Look at this cell. It's pretty big. These are real bunk beds. And they let you have books. It's pretty nice table, the chairs aren't bad. We get a radio, too. There's a TV in the cafeteria. That over there, it's the toilet stall. They even have a stall for it, right? It's kind of like being in the army. I try to think of it like that. It's okay. It really is."

Jean looked around the cell/room.

_Who are you kidding? You live on Central Park West. You don't know shit about hard knocks, only what you've heard. This Scott kid, he has seen the elephant,. He's institutionalized. _

_ Learn from him. _

_ Do what he does. _

_ Don't freak out._

"Don't sweat it. You seem like you have a real cool head, and you're not afraid of much.. I'll teach you. How are you at getting used to things?"

"Well, they say you can get used to anything. I guess I'm going to find out."

* * *

><p>Scott was right.<p>

It wasn't as bad as it could have been.

The cellblock was as clean, neat and orderly, and all the staff appeared to be military personnel, or at least, paramilitary.

They woke you up at the same time, 7AM, every day.

Everybody went to eat meals together, three times a day, and exercise together.

Lights out was the same time every night.

There were 3 & 1/2 hours of tests before lunch, and the same after, and two hours of exercise, a half hour of breakfast and an hour for lunch and dinner, both.

The rest of the time you were in your cell, and it was your own time, and light's out, every night, was at 10:30.

It was kind of like being in the army.

There weren't that many of them.

Ten, in five cells.

Besides Scott, who could shoot laser beams out of his eyes, there was Peter, who was Russian, who could turn himself to steel, and Hank, who despite being, like Jean, incredibly smart, had the size and strength of a gorilla.

They lived in the cell next door.

In the cell across from Scott and Jean's, that's where they kept Warren, who had wings just like an Angel, and Alex, Scott's brother.

Scott hadn't seen his brother, who was Jean's age, in five years, because they had been put in different foster homes, so there was something good that came out of this whole thing.

In the cell beside theirs were Ororo and Emma.

Emma came at the same time Jean did, but they didn't want to put two telepaths into one cell, so they put her in with Scott and Emma in with Ororo, who had the ability to control and create weather and climate.

The last two mutants who had been held were both considerably older than the kids.

Remy was probably about 20 or 21.

He was a Cajun, who was a self-styled gambler and thief who could take a desk of cards and turn them into deadly missiles.

His cellmate, Raven, she was of an indeterminate age, probably one of those mutants who had been around, forever.

They escaped about a month after Jean came.

Remy promised to come back and save them all, personally, but Jean put more stock in Raven.

She lived with the famous mutant activist Erik Lehnsherr , who was, of course, a close friend of Charles Xavier, who was the head of the X-Men and the X-Institute.

When she promised to send help, they believed her.

* * *

><p>After the escape Scott suggested to his fellow prisoners that they be extremely servile, docile and obedient, so that their captors would think they were broken.<p>

It was not a suggestion that Jean relished.

In jail, Jean had been reborn as El Grey!, the hard-as-nails political prisoner who made every act a rebellion, and fought The Man all the way.

She picked fights with the guards armed with clubs who patrolled the cafeteria, and withstood the blows of their cudgels to strike out at flabby bellies, unprotected solar plexuses, fleshy throats, and even the occasional elbow to the nose or kick in the balls.

They'd get a straitjacket, and put her a padded solitary cell, and the day she came out, she'd scream and throw her food at lunchtime.

It went without saying that she would not participate in any of the experiments, and no matter how many times she lost meals, exercise privileges, and money, or was thrown into solitary, it only served to make her more violent and defiant.

Jean wore her bruises like badges of honor; when she was in solitary she'd throw herself against the walls and sing "We Shall Overcome" and the Internationale until she was hoarse.

The other prisoners were not quite so intractable, but nobody wanted to cower before their captors.

"What advantage she it give us to capitulate?" she demanded of Scott.

"If they think they've broken us, especially you. It'll be a victory for them. They'll start to relax. And when they start to relax, they'll make a mistake. When they do, we'll use it to our advantage."

Jean hadn't thought of that, and neither had the other prisoners.

They decided to try it.

It worked.

Within two weeks they could all see an appreciable change in the guards' demeanor.

Which gave Jean an idea.

When she was in the company of the doctors and technicians, or of Col. Stryker, himself, she cultivated the personality of a frightened rabbit.

Servile, obedient, docile and terrified.

The exact opposite of what she was.

If she could hide her true colours and then show them in some spectacular fashion, as Creed suggested, she might be able to get into Weapon X, and then work for the freedom of her fellow captives.

Or she might be able to get Stryker off guard and kill him.

Either way, he might relax into thinking she was an idiot, and give something important away.

She even took the extra step of obviously cringing and flinching when Stryker was in the room.

After a month or so of this business, he had her brought to his office.

Jean feigned the very-edge of pants pissing terror.

"Is there some reason you're so frightened of me, little girl?"

She could tell that he liked it, the sick son of a bitch, it made him happy that he had broken her spirit, utterly and that she was apparently incredibly terrified of him.

Had Jean been in possession of her powers, she thought, she would have made him shoot himself with his own gun.

In the guts, so that, just like in the movies, it would take him a few days to die.

"I don't want to die, Colonel Stryker, sir. Please, sir, I'm not a subversive. I know the Pledge of Allegiance, and the Gettysburg Address, and my Mom and Dad are registered voters. I'm sorry I'm a mutant, sir. I can't help it. I was born that way. I'll join the army, if you want me to. I'll use my powers for the greater good of my country. Just don't kill me, sir. I'm so terrified."

And he just chuckled and laughed, oh he was so happy he was rubbing his hands together with glee.

"We're not going to kill you. After the experiment is over, your families and foster families will all be compensated by the government, provided they sign agreements not to disclose, or prosecute. Then you can all go home."

"Really?" Jean asked

Jean forced a bright, but frightened smile.

She really was a little sacred, because his preposterous bullshit made her realize that Creed was wrong about the aim of this facility.

Stryker had lied to Sabretooth, too.

The Colonel wasn't looking to assimilate, he was looking to exterminate.

"Really." Stryker promised.

* * *

><p>At lunch, while they all ate, Jean made her report.<p>

As they were talking, they all looked at their plates.

"Well?" Scott asked.

"Stryker lied to Creed. Probably because even he wouldn't hunt down his own kind and turn them over to Adolf Eichmann." Jean said.

"I don't like where this is going." Hank commented.

"He didn't even tell me a good lie. Which means he doesn't have to think of one. And if the government isn't lying to us and kissing our asses, that means only one thing."

"Are you sure about that, Jean?" Scott asked.

"Yeah. That and I was looking around his office and I saw a picture on his desk of Cardinal John. As in the black Pope of the Church of Humanity. The family resemblance was suddenly, well, striking. I'll bet all these people are C of H. After they're done with us, they're going to kill us all. Despite all this paramilitary barracks bullshit."

Emma Frost sobbed, and Jean kicked her under the table.

"Suck it up, comrade! Can that shit! We're mutants. This is what life is like for mutants. Get used to it or hang yourself in your cell so the rest of us have a better chance to escape." Jean snapped.

"Jean!" Scott explained.

"What? Baby, this isn't the Mr. Rogers Fun Time Hour. The shit is coming down. It's up to us whether we bring it on their heads, or they bring it on ours."

"No. She's right. We've got to find a way to get our powers back so we can get the fuck out of here. Because, unless we can figure a way out of her, or Raven shows up with Magneto and Professor X, we're all dead." Emma agreed.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I could kill a whole bunch of these guys with my bare hands. If I had to." Hank said.

"I know I could. You do what you have to do. They want to kill us? We kill them first. That's it." Peter commented, shrugging, fatalistically.

"Preach it, _tovasrisch_." Jean said.

She smiled at Peter, and raised her fist, and smiling back, he did the same.

"Alright you two, don't start singing the Internationale!" Scott interrupted.

"You can use me as a shield. If I could use my powers." Emma said.

"If we could use our powers we could make their heads explode." Jean said, darkly.

"Or make them all shoot each other." Emma suggested.

"I could flood the place. Or a nice mini-hurricane. Maybe a monster tornado." Ro said

"I could fly us out." Warren added.

"You guys have never seen my plasma pulses. I could make us a nice big hole in this dump." Alex bragged.

"And I could make it bigger. But you're all forgetting, we don't have our powers." Scott finished.

Jean didn't say anything.

She had been spending much of her time, even at night, while Scott was asleep, trying, patiently, again and again to try and get around the block Stryker had set up.

"Hank and I don't need powers. We are both big guys. If the end comes before we get rescued, we overpower a guard each. Take guns. Shoot a few more. Enough for one gun, one mutant. Then we take on all of them. We get out old fashioned way. Shoot them all." Peter suggested.

"I'll do it. Fuck'm. Honky motherfuckers and their godammn Uncle Tom Oreo white man's boot lickin' niggers! Fuck'm all." Ro agreed.

"Preach it, sister!" Jean continued.

"I don't know if I could kill anybody. I'll just handle the flying us out." Warren admitted.

"I don't know if I could kill anybody, either! What's the matter with you all? Are we no better than they are? I can't believe you guys are all so willing to kill these people. They're all human beings, just like us. They have families at home. Kids, like we are." Scott protested.

"If they had kids like us, big brother, they wouldn't be here. Don't be such a goddam goody-goody all the time." Alex protested.

"Shut it, little brother, or I will shut it for you." Scott warned

"I'm with Scott. I'm not a mercenary, I'm just a great big science nerd. I don't want to kill anybody, unless I have to." Hank volunteered.

"Alright, then. We take guns and knock them cold. Just so we get out!" Peter amended his idea.

"I still want to make their heads explode." Jean maintained.

"Or make them shoot themselves. They want to kill all of us. They're with the C of H. The people who probably made you an orphan, Scott. All those C of H terrorists deserve to die. Even the government when they catch them, they always charge them with treason and sentence them to fry in droves." Emma agreed.

"That's right! My father says that one of the good things about the Comedian is that, as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Covert, he doesn't give the C of H any leeway. He orders his agents to terminate all C of H members immediately, and with extreme prejudice. Like the raping, murdering, marauding, burning bomb-throwing vermin they are!" Jean interjected.

"It's out duty as mutants. That's what my father says." Emma added.

"Look, this isn't about politics. We're not going to use deadly force unless we have to. Because we already have an advantage. They think they've broken us. And now, they think that we all think that we're going to go home with money after our patriotic duty is done. They will not expect resistance. Hank, you and Pete will try and overpower the guards. We'll take their guns, just in case. Then we'll make an escape attempt. As soon as we get to a level of this facility where we use our powers, Jean, you and Emma will have to discover the way out. Ro, you can make a diversion. If it rains and storms inside, that will give them all something to think of. Alex, once we find the upper level, you and I make a new door out of here. We can keep the guards busy while the others escape. Warren, you can fly us individually to safety, in the event we can't find any vehicles." Scott ventured.

It was a good plan.

Scott was good with plans.

"What if there are no keys?' Ro asked.

"Me and Scott both know how to hot wire a car." Alex told them.

"I'll go with that plan. We only kill them if we have to." Hank interjected.

"Are we all agreed? Emma? Jean?"

The two telepaths agreed, grudgingly.

"Okay. We wait until the six months Mystique and Gambit promised us about are up. Or until things start to change in our routine. Whichever comes first. I'll let you know when it's go time. Are we agreed?" Scott asked.

Everyone nodded assent.

"Right. Here they come to take our trays. Everybody cringe, and look scared and dumb."

* * *

><p>Three more months went by, for a total of five.<p>

In that time, Scott turned 15, and Hank turned 16.

Emma and Jean had privately decided that they were still going to see if they could make one badguy's head explode, and make one shoot himself.

They were both thinking of the same man.

Colonel Stryker.

At first, Jean had to keep her mind off her parents, and her home, because if she thought about them in conjunction with the possibility that she might die, it made her feel like she wanted to cry.

But this was no place for tears.

Scott was right, she got used to it.

What you had to be to get through something like this was hard.

Hard as the diamond skin Emma said she had; hard as the fucking Rock of Gibraltar.

Her mother and father talked about it, and they were hard enough after 15 years of protest, riots and demonstrations to take a little knocking around from the cops and a night or two in jail.

But this was a different kind of hard.

It was the kind of hard you had to be to survive the dungeons of a South American tinhorn dictator, the kind of hard you had to be to survive gulag.

It was the kind of hard she hoped they would never have to become.

Jean got real hard, real fast; she could think about home as much as she wanted to and never felt the urge to give a sniffle or shed a tear.

All she wanted was to get the fuck out of this place, kill all of these motherfuckers and make damn sure that for the rest of her life, she would never, ever, be in a position again where she was the nail and somebody else was the hammer.

Make sure, in fact that no other mutant had to go through what she went through, not one, not ever.

What was it Magneto said?

Never again.

Only cream and bastards rise, and I'm both, she told herself.

Still, Jean couldn't stand being alone, in the dark, with her thoughts.

She and Scott moved their bunks and pushed them together and fixed the blankets and the sheets so it was like one bed.

Nobody ever said anything to them about it.

She felt better, with Scott lying beside her, and she got some sleep, huddled against the crook of his arm, but not much.

Jean often tried to overcome the block on her powers, sometimes to the point where she got horrible headaches and nosebleeds.

Then, she would just lie there, thinking about how they were going to kill her.

A bullet?

Gas?

Electrocution?

Hanging?

Then, she thought about all the things she would never get to do, dying at 13.

She would never even finish high school, let alone go to college.

She would never become a doctor, like she wanted, or drive a car.

Or buy a house or have an apartment, or go to a Who or Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin or Ramones Concert without her parents.

Then she would think about the crazier things she used to like to do, like have a few beers on a week end, or smoke a little of her parents' weed when they were out.

Jean was up smoking and brooding, smoking and brooding, for half the night.

Then Scott would wake up, and he would be concerned and make her come and lie down with him.

Sometimes he'd kiss her, a little.

Jean liked that.

A lot.

Because one of the things she missed the most was fucking.

She often thought about the back of the van with Sabretooth.

Even though Jean believed he didn't realize he was selling her off to her death, she was still going to make him pay.

Not with his life, though.

And not without another round.

Scott, she really liked him, though.

Which bothered her, in a way.

Having strong feelings for Scott complicated things in a way she didn't like.

That and he was so fifties.

And she was pretty sure he was a virgin, but everybody has to start somewhere.

Jean started with trading one of the guards three packs of cigarettes from the commissary for a box of Trojans.

She kept trying to subtly insinuate to Scott that she wanted to do a little more than kiss him, but he never took the hint.

One day, though, he gave her a tiny bit of a loophole, and Jean slipped through it.

"Scott? You awake?"

He yawned, and moved around, a little.

"I am now. What is it, Jean?"

"I heard you telling Hank not to look at me like that, because I'm your girl. You might have told me."

"Well, Jean, I just…I mean, I just thought…"

"That's okay, Scott. I don't mind being your old lady, and you being my old man. I'm cool with that. I'm not into that whole thing where we go steady and own each other, though. That's patriarchal bullshit. But I like you. I'll be your girlfriend."

"Say that again in English."

"I like you. A lot more than I ever liked any other guy. I'll be your girl. But I don't do monogamy. Not only do I think it's bullshit, it's not in my nature. But I'll never put any other guys before you."

"I don't know how I feel about that."

"I don't know, Either, Scott. But if you really want me to be your girl, you'll have to live with it. I could lie o you and say I'll change, but I won't. I love you just the way you are, Mr. Fifties, sweater over your button-down shirt, haircut above your collar National Honor Society Boy Scout. I wouldn't ask you to change. Don't ask me."

"Jean, did you say you loved me?"

"Maybe it's just a jail thing. But yeah, I did. I'm pretty sure I do."

"I loved you almost from the first moment they shoved you into the cell with me. If you can live with me being a Young Republican and Mr. Fifties, I guess I can live with you being a combination of Fidel Castro, Gloria Steinem and Janis Joplin."

Scott laughed a little into the dark, and Jean laughed too.

"I guess it's settled, hen."

"Good. If we ever get out of here, I'll buy you a ring, or something. It'll have to be a cheap ring, But, that's something, right?"

"I don't need a ring, Scott. I need you. You're good enough for me. But, you do know if they kill us, now, we'll never get to do anything with our lives."

"They're not going to kill me. Or you. Or any of us. We have a plan."

"Be realistic, Scott. Do you really want to die a virgin?"

"A WHAT!"

"Don't yell! I'm your girl, Scott. Don't you want to make love to me? I'd rather have that than a ring, any old day. I don't play around just for political reasons, you know. I'll bet I'm just about the horniest chick in New York City…"

"Jean! Don't touch me…_there_!"

"Aww, c'mon, Scott! If they kill us, you'll never know what it's like. We'll never be together."

"I'll never know? You mean you've done it? But you're almost two years younger than I am!"

"So? I'll show you the ropes. I'll bet you're a fast learner. You're a good kisser. Better than most of the guys I've been with."

Jean nestled against him, and started rubbing his chest.

She slung her leg across both of hi.s

"Jean…"

"C'mon, Scott. You know you want to. Why fight it?"

"Well..what if you get pregnant?"

"I won't. I traded one of the guards three packs of cigarettes for a box of Trojans."

"Jean!"

"What? They're under the mattress."

"You mean , now? Right now? After we've just been talking about it?"

"No. Just…whenever. The next time either of us thinks about it."

Scott laughed, a little nervously.

"I'm thinking about it right now. I don't think I'll be able to stop thinking about it, all night."

"Then kiss me. And whatever happens…we'll go with it."

"Hey, Jean it's my first time. Be gentle with me." Scott joked.

"Fat chance, sugar. You're gonna have to take it like a man." Jean replied.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Over here! Open my cell first!"<p>

The man Jean knew had to be the Wolverine gave her a brief look, before running past her cell, first and then the others, clawing the locks off.

Somehow, his famous claws were made of metal, now.

Jean jumped out.

There were guards, firing down at them, and she looked at one of them, thinking the thought she had been thinking for months.

His head blew up.

"We've got out powers back!" Jean exulted.

Another guard had his gun on Wolverine.

"Hey, you! Shoot your buddy instead!" Jean ordered him.

He did it.

She laughed.

"Now, shoo yourself. In the guts."

The guard did that too.

Jean laughed, again.

She picked up one of the dead guards' machine guns, and started firing at the live guards until the gun was out of bullets.

No problem.

"Man, this is so easy I should be ashamed of myself." she chuckled.

Wolverine turned to her, briefly.

Christ, was he a good looking son of a bitch!

_What I wouldn't give for fifteen minutes under him, fuck yeah!_

"How'd you do that, kid?" he asked

Jean pointed to her temple.

"I can make these assholes do whatever I want."

"Good. Save me some trouble and yourselves some casualties. Don't fuck around with those guns. Juts kill 'em all."

"Jean! Let's make them all shoot each other!" Emma yelled.

She and Pete were hiding the others, deflecting bullets.

"What about Scott's plan?" Jean asked.

"It didn't work! I didn't realize they'd all be trying to machine gun us! Get them to shoot each other's legs." Scott yelled.

"Fuck 'm! I'm with you, Jean! Let's just make their heads blow up!" Emma yelled.

Jean turned back to Wolverine.

He abruptly jumped in front of her, taking heavy machine gun fire to his chest.

"Do it soon, kid! These thirty-aught-six bullets don't feel too good."

"Okay. Emma? You ready?"

"Ready!"

"Concentrate. We'll close our eyes. On three. One…two… three!"

There was a lot of loud popping, and Scott yelling for them to stop, and then the sound of metal guns hitting the metal floor, followed by silence.

Jean opened her eyes.

All the guards were dead, and they grey metal walls were spattered and spotted with blood, brains, and bone.

"Damn, we're good." She marveled

"Hey, kid, you ever think about joining the X-Men?" Wolverine asked.

He looked impressed.

"Every day I was here." She told him.

Quickly, Col. Howlett took charge of the situation.

"Okay, kids. Don't panic. It was either them or you. Trust me. All of these guys were hand-picked C of H killers. If any of you have dead relatives, it might just be one of these men who killed them. And not in a nice way. It was you or them. Now we gotta get you out of here. Which one of you is in charge?"

Scott stepped forward.

"I am, Colonel Howlett."

"You had the right idea, kid. You never use deadly force just for fun. Only if you have to. Don't worry about it, you had to. And I gave the command. It's on me, not you. Now, Charlie's going to be talking to one of the two telepaths in her head. You follow her and lead the rest of your people out of here. Tell him I said not to wait for me. I've got unfinished business. Tell him I'll be back when I can."

Later, Jean would wonder if Professor Logan remembered any of it.

She remembered it all.

* * *

><p>Time passed quickly, for all of them.<p>

Jean was reunited with her parents, who were proud of her that she conducted herself with honor and dignity in her time as a political prisoner.

So were Hank and Warren, and Pete sent word to his family in Russia that he had finally reached his destination, safely.

Scott and Alex didn't have any family, and neither did 'Ro.

Scott found out his foster parents sold him for ten thousand dollars, and Ro and Alex, who were both living on the street in New York, were bought from their respective gang leaders.

Hank and Warren and Pete were all kidnapped, like she was by the big, blond man with the fangs.

Victor Creed was a former marine and S.H.I.E.L.D agent turned Weapon X Agent, who was now better known by the name Sabretooth.

He was a victim of Stryker's treachery too, and so were the X-Men.

After a showdown with Stryker, Wolverine went AWOL.

Gambit claimed Logan didn't recognize him; something had happened to make him lose his memory.

Vowing revenge on Stryker and whoever his backers were, Sabretooth left Weapon X and went to find Wolverine, his estranged brother.

Word had it, he did so with the full support of Col. Edward M. Blake, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D Covert, who had, almost a lifetime ago, been PFC Blake under Col Howlett, who became his trusted mentor, and eventually, his friend.

As for the escapees of Stryker's jail, they all ended up attending the X-Institute, together.

The next year or so was pretty busy for Jean.

She remained dedicated to her vow to protect mutants and their rights, and came to see Charles' Xavier's X-Men and the X-Institute as the perfect vehicle for that aim.

Charles worked with her on gaining more control of her powers, and helped her build a mental partition for the portion of them that was actively dangerous.

He called those the Phoenix Force.

But, everything that put fire into Jean couldn't be walled away.

It was probably Phoenix that made her confrontational, and rebellious, and stubborn.

The girl in the leather jacket and the combat boots and the Ramones and Rolling Stones tee shirts who picked up the habit of chain-smoking when she was in Bill Stryker's jail and never gave it up.

She never gave up on any of the lessons she learned there, either.

Life is hard.

So am I.

Better to be the hammer than the nail.

Only cream and bastards rise, and I am both.

She took her superhero name from the man who had, however unwittingly, turned her feet from the path of careless teenage rebellion against whatever you got, and set them on the course to her become a tireless champion of mutant rights.

A soldier for freedom, and against tyranny.

El Grey!

Marvel Girl, Eighth Wonder of the World.

Jean was tough before jail, but after, she was diamond hard.

When Charles told her she couldn't solve her difficulties with other people by psychically attacking them, she started getting into fistfights, until he told her to stop that, too.

However, it was also Phoenix that put the spark in her personality, that made her courageous and curious and voraciously intelligent; determined to be at the top of her class even though she was two years ahead of herself.

The girl who was fascinated by science, who wanted to know why and how everything worked.

The girl who had enough courage for ten mutants; who never backed down from a challenge of any kind, whose razor sharp wit could either entertain or decimate.

They were both Jean, and she was comfortable in her own skin, even if to some of her classmates she seemed mercurial and unpredictable.

But never to Scott.

He always seemed to understand.

Scott was her rock, he was her pillar of strength and he had been since the day she met him in that dark prison cell.

He was her friend, and her lover, and she really did love him, very much.

As much as he loved her.

But, the Jean who went to school dances and the movies with Scott, and spent hours studying in the library was the same Jean who snuck away with Ro to go to parties and concerts in the city; the same Jean who had caused the heads of twenty men to blow up and then laughed.

The same Jean who secretly hit the street almost every in search of fast times and cheap thrills.

She worked hard, it was only fair that she should be able to play hard, too.

The same Jean who's wandering eye led her first to Tony Stark, and then, to Wolverine.

He would be the only man that she and Phoenix both liked.


End file.
